When All Else Fails

The weekend was spent at the Stonycreek Rendezvous near Johnstown, PA. Four new paddling runs, but that's not allowed to be discussed on a WV blog. But, as an archive to supplement my lousy memory, those four runs were: Shade Creek (lower section) and the Stonycreek River (Upper Gorge, Canyon, and Lower sections).

Seeing as all of the runnable waterways easily accessed from the festival had been knocked off by Saturday afternoon, it was decided to head south into WV for Sunday's paddle. Three of my Intermediate/Advanced paddling friends and I joined two exceptional kayakers on a run down the lower section of Big Sandy Creek today. This was my third time down, so my anxiety over Wonderfalls was less severe this time, but my heart still raced through the first mile before we got to the drop. All went well as all 6 members of our crew successfully ran the waterfall.

In fact, aside from your usual carnage (flips, swims, and minor pins), all was well for the entire team until the last rapid of significance, First Island. As the name indicates, we come to the rapid at the first point that the creek diverges around a rocky island. The left side is shallow and strewn with lots of rocks, which makes it far less fun. The right channel is flat at the top, but quickly becomes exciting as paddlers drop over a 4 foot falls and quickly through a cascade of about 20 yards of rocky whitewater. GO RIGHT THROUGH THE CASCADE is the general rule, but I managed to break this rule and discovered the consequences the hard way.

When you're in the middle of running a rapid in a kayak, there is a surprisingly significant amount of control and a lot of time to react to rocks, waves, hydraulics, and other obstacles. I had run First Island twice before successfully, and both times, I followed the rule. This time, being the lazy one in the group, I decided to remain in my boat and make an example of myself as the rest of the group scouted the rapid. This typically goes well, but this time I exhibited what NOT to do. Taking one last hard power stroke at the lip of the top falls, I launched into the whitewater below. In the short amount of time I had to react then (I wasn't able see over the falls from above), went right around a large boulder. Then, in a moment of unclarity, I looked to the left side of the next boulder for my next move.

When you make a wrong move, the wrongness of it often rears its ugly head immediately. In this case, I dropped over several large rocks with a series of thuds, and don't remember how, but was quickly capsized. This is usually not a problem, and so I waited upside-down for the commotion to end as I typically do. But, when it ended, I was resting upside-down on the rocky river bottom and could feel and hear the water still rushing past me very quickly. There are two options in this situation, the most attractive of which is a forced set up for an eskimo roll, and the other pulling the skirt cord and swimming out of the boat. I went for the former, and forcefully shifted both of my hands to my side. However, it may have been a bit too forcefully, and my two hands were no longer connected via a rigid shaft. I'd snapped my paddle on one of the rocks that was holding me in place.

It was inevitable that this would happen. I'd been paddling for nearly four years on a half-decent paddle, and even the best paddles don't last for all that many runs. This paddle had paid itself off many times over.

I pulled the cord, and stood up on the rocks. I threw my boat to shore and stepped out of the river. For a second, I watched half of my paddle float away before I couldn't see it anymore.

It was near the end of the run, but we still had several class 3 sections to run. Fortunately, I was paddling with an extremely skilled and well-equipped pair of paddlers, one of whom quickly tossed me his paddle and revealed a pair of hand paddles. And, this is why I continue to take every opportunity to paddle with experts.

In other news, Big Sandy Creek continues to amaze me. The clarity of the water through the untouched canyon is nothing short of Godly on a warm, sunny day like today. At one point, as I was sitting in a calm pool waiting for others in the group to shoot one of the rapids, I looked back upstream. From that vantage point at the bottom of several rapids, the high-gradient streambed could be better appreciated. For about a quarter mile, the Sandy sparkled and frothed through the rocky terrain while the vegetation surrounding it soaked it up. It won't be long before the canyon is green with life while the creek loses most of its water to the plants. Visiting that exact spot would be extremely difficult at that point, but I hope to get the chance to try.

It's really almost heaven when you stop and look around.

Git 'r Dun.

Nelson Rocks

Somebody decided that it would be a good idea to build a via Ferrata in West Virginia.

Think back to your childhood, and you'll no doubt have many memories of participating in activities that you'd have serious reservations allowing your own children to do today. Take this collection of activities, all of which are probably attached to vivid memories, and remove those that would now be impossible because of liability issues. Next, remove the ones that are simply impossible because the only reason you were able to do them was your youth (ask me, Marc, or Max about our acrobatics aspirations). Lastly, drop those that are too are far too dangerous for your adult sensibilities. What remains?

These are the things that the active adult enjoys doing.

There may be a gray area, though, when it comes to what is sensible and what is not. Regardless, there is a continuum between the perfectly sane (think hiking in a well-marked park) and the questionable. The via Ferrata is questionable.

I'm afraid of heights. I wouldn't call my phobia diagnosable, but the fear that I have is significant enough to take my breath away when I find myself looking down. Yet, rational thought tells me that if I'm tied to a rock via a harness system that is strong enough to suspend my car, then I am not off the continuum. My fear tells me otherwise. The via Ferrata is a constant struggle for a person like myself.

Traveling through the Potomac Highlands of central WV, folks drive through Judy Gap with substantial regularity because it is at the crossroads of several important travel routes. I'd wager that less than a tenth of a percent of them are aware that they are within minutes of one the most spectacular grown-up jungle gyms ever created on a pair of quasi-parallel rock spines called Nelson Rocks. The spines are about 1000 feet high, with a separation that tapers from about 500 yards to 150 feet.

The via Ferrata (Italian for Iron Way) starts with a series of extremely strong rungs bolted into the Nelson Rocks strata (think of a towel bar capable of suspending a small truck). The rungs form a route that goes up the outermost face of the first spine, through a notch to the inside of the first spine, up the inside of that spine, across a cable bridge 200 feet above the ground to the other spine, continues ascending the inside face of the second spine, through a second notch, and that then scales the back face of the second spine, ending where it meets the summit of a 3500+ foot mountain. Independent of the rungs, a cable is stretched along the route and fixed to the rock at 5 - 20 foot intervals. Strap on a climbing harness outfitted with two sections of rope that end with locking carabiners, clip into the cable system, and the mountain is yours to explore. If you dare.

The Fourth of July weekend 2006 was spent with my family at Margot and Mark's cabin (again?! Yes, again). On Sunday of the weekend, a crew composed of me, Kirsten, Matt, Donald, and Katie strapped on the aforementioned harness systems, bid Julie and the kids adieu, and walked into the woods toward the terminus of the via Ferrata, and promptly came to a wall. The way from there was up. Straight up.

It took several of us a good while to scrape together the nerve to step onto the via Ferrata. The first section is purely vertical, and the fear wears off after awhile, aside from the optional loop that is encountered after the second notch following the bridge. Climbing the steel rungs was very simple, other than the sweaty palm problem that comes from being very scared on a hot Sunday in July. In only a few places was any sort of 'move' required, perhaps around a small tree that had a deathgrip on the rock or around a corner of rock that was insufficiently positioned for leaning. Leaning on the rock feels great when you are 500 feet above the ground.

The optional loop is a different story. I don't know that I'd ever do this part again, though it comes to a climax at the very tip-top of the rock, which happens to be about 20 inches wide. Yes, that said "inches." What's more is that climbers ascend a vertical pitch to the top and must shimmy across the 20-inch wide rock with each foot dangling above a different 1000 foot drop for about ten feet in order to access the down-climb. If I could describe the terror, I would. So, I won't.

We all completed the via Ferrata, and all but one of us took on the optional loop. The trip took several hours, but when the struggle associated with extreme heights and the brink of sanity are thrown into the mix, you're looking at an exhausting day.

Check out the photos.

Git 'r Dun.

Another Feather in the Cap

Cheat Canyon, as mentioned in early posts, has been eluding me. This stretch of river is known for it's scenery and remoteness, but that's not the real reason that I've been so anxious. In November of 2005, an advanced whitewater canoeist from DC named RC Forney, who I did not know, drowned in one of Cheat Canyon's class IV rapids after missing his line, flipping out of his canoe, and becoming entrapped on a submerged dead tree. The original post on the message board of the Monocacy Canoe Club came on the evening of the tragic incident, and is reproduced here.

It is my sad duty to report that RC Forney died yesterday at Pete Morgan rapid on the Cheat River. RC was paddling an open boat. The level was 3 feet.
RC was having a very good day. He had just declined an opportunity to sneak Upper Coliseum and had run a perfect line through the meat of that difficult rapid. As he approached the entrance to Pete Morgan, he was off-line to the right. He hit the hole above the large rock on the right side of the entrance and then was swept sideways into that rock. He flipped and came out of the right side of his boat into the violent rectangle of water created by the four boulders that are just to the right of the standard line. His boat came down the rapid quickly, but we never saw RC after he came out of his boat at the top right of the rapid. We chased and flipped his boat upright in the hope that he was under it, but he was not. We went up the rocks on the left side and searched for him from every spot we could reach.
When we started to look for him, we realized for the first time that there was a large tree parallel to the standard line and about 2 feet to the right. The tree is wedged into the severely undercut left side of the large rock on the right side of the entrance and into the other large rock at the bottom right of the rapid. We also searched by boat from the bottom of the rapid and from the top of the cliff on the right side of the river. Two local paddlers came down the river and joined the search, to no avail.
The West Virginia state police sent an infrared-equipped helicopter to the scene last night, and the state police and local rescue squad are conducting a thorough search today.
The other participants in this tragic trip were Lee Thonus, Cahil Converse, Terry Irani, and Gisela Zarcusky. Lee is assisting with the body recovery effort today. RC left behind his wife, Dana, and 2 children, aged 4 years and 10 months. I will miss RC a lot. He was a wonderful person.

When a paddler dies, the tight-knit community rallies. The post above generated a record number of responses. The reaction is almost always the same. Condolences are followed by analysis. The event is reiterated by all present parties and rescue personnel. Potential to learn from the accident is emphasized, and any contributing factors that are reasonable enough to address are removed. In this case, the submerged tree was removed from the boulder below which it was stuck, and I was told that within a few days it was on the shore near the rapid and a small flag was tied to it, honoring its significance.

I've run two rivers before that had claimed lives. This was different, however, because the others (Lower Yough and New) had never taken the life of a private boater with an advanced set of skills. On the Lower Yough, all deaths have been rafters. On the New, those who have died who were not rafters were in above their head and were either unable to make the necessary maneuvers or perform an eskimo roll. From what I've read and been told, RC was quite capable for the Cheat Canyon.

Aside from the mental block that was RC's tragic accident on the Cheat, the canyon is a very long run (9.5 miles with a significant portion of flatwater) and it was quite cold last Friday. However, the day before, I'd met a group of two Baltimorons (that title keeps getting better) to run the Lower Big Sandy for my second time, and with the small group and a water level equal to last week's run, we were all comfortable just running the rapids without getting out of the boats and scouting in most cases. That meant that the run was much quicker and I came out of it much more confident. In fact, it was my idea to run Cheat Canyon the next day. I got back to the apartment and told Rob that -- if he was up for it -- he should come along. Rob had a mental block of his own in that he'd walked off the Cheat a year ago after making the decision that he was not sufficiently skilled to paddle past the first rapid. Since that time, he's gotten considerably better.

We ended up with a crew of five. The river is indeed beautiful, and there is indeed a great deal of whitewater. There were two swims, though the first was into a pool of flatwater. The second, however, was concerning. The last two rapids are called Coliseum and Pete Morgan. I don't know the origin of the name of this latter drop, but I had studied it intimately because it is where RC Forney died. The rapids have names due to the fact that there is a well accepted best way to run it. If all rapids in the canyon had this property, then there would be far more named rapids; in short, most rapids are "point and shoot." Coliseum has two hydraulics in it that should not be entered by kayaks (rafts would be okay, just as a sports car shouldn't be in many places a Jeep would be required). The first is on the right, and the second on the left. So, what most boaters should do is to start way over on the left to avoid the top hole, paddle into an eddy on the side (where there is little current behind a boulder), and then cross the current from there (called "ferrying") to get to the other side of the river and avoid the bottom hole. The paddler who swam here was able to catch the eddy (the hard part over), but failed to ferry hard enough to get to the opposite side of the river. This meant that he was washed into the bottom hole, which sucked him in for a bit. He attempted a few rolls, but when one is upside down in a big hydraulic, it is often very disorienting and difficult to properly set up to roll. After his failed attempts, he decided to pull his skirt and swim out of it. As in most cases, this meant that the boat and paddler both began drifting downstream because the physical properties (bouyancy and shape) of the boat/paddler system was disrupted, and the physical properties of the two apart from each other was significantly different enough and they both washed out. The paddler was not shaken and started to swim for shore.

So far, so good. But, I was aware that Coliseum had a lower section and that Pete Morgan was not far downstream. Swimming through the lower section was not a problem, and I paddled straight for him so that he could hold onto my boat. He did this with a few of us, progressively getting closer to shore each time. At one point, somebody found his paddle and threw it ashore. By the time he was on land, we'd come through Lower Coliseum and he gave us the "A-Okay" sign. The boat was now the issue, and two of the paddlers were in pursuit. Rescues such as this are common enough that they become more routine, and while the safety of the swimmer takes priority, in a remote canyon on a cold day such as this, the swimmer's safety is also dependent on recovering the boat and paddle.

The other paddler who I'd been staying with up until this point said to me, "Dude, that's Pete Morgan!!" and my heart skipped. I was confident in my ability to navigate rapids unscouted, but this was the one from which my anxiety had stemmed that day. I quickly paddled into an eddy. Looking up to see the now former swimmer starting to walk downstream along a sheer cliff by bouldering, I clearly found myself in a relatively safe position to appreciate how the day must have been when RC Forney died. The two paddlers who had chased the empty boat were below the rapid and out of sight and the only other paddler in his boat was now with me in the eddy. We agreed to get out and scouted Pete Morgan despite my fixation with this rapid. With one look, I felt confident with it and took a moment to silently honor its victim. We leapt into our boats and ran Pete Morgan without incident. The two others were calmly waiting in the eddy below the rapid with the boat we'd all been chasing. This was the last rapid, and by the time we emptied the water-logged boat, its paddler had reached us. The rest was what we call "Boogie Water," and so I knew that Cheat Canyon was another feather in my cap. As mountaineers say, we knocked the bastard off.

In all, the river was a fantastic and fun run. I am happy to have it under my belt and look forward to more trips down it. Next time I'll bring my camera. Because of my concerns about this river, I decided not to bring it along. If I'm ever feeling anxious about an activity, I tend to keep the activity the focus. Something about being on my "A-game."

Git 'r Dun.

A March to Remember

I had been waiting for spring quite excitedly.

My activity of choice, whitewater paddling, is obviously dependent on a decent amount of water in the rivers, which is dependent on a significant amount of precipitation in the river's watershed. In this corner of the globe, early spring is the rainiest season, and if there's snow to be melted, then the rivers go up even more. They did, and I have been capitalizing. It's the American way, right?

It is Sunday night and I have been wearing the same pants since Thursday. Yeah, I know that it may seem gross, but it's really because I only brought one pair for the weekend because I knew I’d only wear them in the morning and in the late evening. The rest of the time, I was in my boating gear.

On Friday morning (it's still spring break), despite having a few numbers to call and a few vaguely planned trips, I decided to just get up and get breakfast. I chose Little Sandy's in Bruceton Mills for a single reason: boaters meet there on their way to run rivers. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't recommend hanging out at an Interstate truck stop to pick up guys, but this is Little Sandy's. The Cheat and Youghiogheny Rivers, and Little and Big Sandy Creeks are all within minutes, and anybody going to any boating destination in the Cheat, New, Gauley, or other watershed to the South, and who is coming from DC, Baltimore, or Philly, usually stops at this particular truck stop.

I finished breakfast and walked outside to find two paddlers from Baltimore. A few weeks before that, I had joined some of the Greater Baltimore Canoe Club (GBCC) members for a trip down the Stony River, so after introducing myself, we played a short round of the name game. I kind-of, sort-of vaguely (maybe) recognized one of them from the Potomac, I think.

An instantaneous connection exists between two paddlers who decide to run a river together, and because of the endless whitewater paddling opportunities in WV, it happens here more than anywhere else. It has nothing to do with whether or not the people know each other. I had met John and Barb, two GBCC paddlers, a few weeks ago, and I saw them at the Big Sandy Creek put-in Friday morning. Along with Henry and Steve, my Little Sandy's pick-ups, I latched onto John and Barb and notified them all that I'd be with them through the run. I got an affirmative nod from John. In any other situation, this would not be as heavy a contract as it was. I didn't know any of the four of these people, but was essentially telling them to make sure that I don't drown, and that I'd be watching to make sure that they don't drown. It's morbid when it's reduced to this level, but it provides for a connection unlike anything I've ever experienced between relative strangers, and in many cases, I don't even get to know the person who is standing on a rock with a rescue line at the ready in their hand. After all, it’s hard to hold conversations over roaring whitewater.

Steve and Henry, though, ended up sharing a weekend with me at the Webster Wildwater Festival, so we got to know a bit about each other. Thanks to the buzz created by the festival, we ran the lower section of Big Sandy Creek on Friday, in one case launching an 18-foot waterfall. On Saturday, we ran the upper section of the Meadow River, and on Sunday, we ran the Back Fork of the Elk River.

There is unprecedented excitement in new water. Whether it's a riffled class one stream or something much bigger, seeing a waterway for the first time is unparalled. The lower section of Big Sandy Creek had been escaping me, and with two waterfalls, it was an intimidating leap. I'd seen one, "Wonderfalls," before, and wrote about that in January after driving my car through the woods to get there. "Splat," however, was a new sight, and I can confidently say that unless my sanity is compromised later in life, I will always walk around this waterfall. The beauty of the gorge through which the Sandy travels is breathtaking. There are no cabins or roads. A few hike-in campsites can be seen if you're looking hard. The hand of man, as it appears, is not visible. (Forgetting, of course, about the fact that the forest is probably only 50 years old thanks to clear-cutting). And this is all secondary to the thrill experienced by paddling the rapids.

Three days of class 4/5 rivers completely wiped me out, and for some reason, I just told my roommate, Rob, that I'd paddle our local water, the Cheat Narrows, with him tomorrow. Crack? Meth? In comparison to whitewater, they're like a chocolate craving.

My recap of March personal firsts:

• Upper Savage River, MD
• Casselman River, PA
• Big Sandy Creek (upper), WV
• Big Sandy Creek (lower), WV
• Little Sandy Creek, WV
• Laurel Hill Creek, PA
• Meadow River (Upper), WV
• Back Fork of the Elk River (Middle), WV
• Stony River, WV

Gittin' 'r Dun.